Franny and Zooey moreso than Catcher in the Rye, though - if for no other reason than the Glasses sort of typify what is it to be a person who lives with that sort of terrible sensitivity without being ultimately destroyed by it (well except for Seymour, but to be fair he had all that, y’know, being-hollowed-out-as-a-person-by-the-horrors-of-war stuff happening).
Like, I think it’s sort of implied that Holden Caulfield probably flames out at some point - I mean, there’s wondering where the ducks go, and then there’s wondering where the ducks go and, no, seriously how come no one ever thinks of the ducks GODDAMMIT WHO’S LOOKING OUT FOR THE MOTHERFUCKING DUCKS?
And I think Zooey Glass is a counterpoint to that - there’s the same problem with dealing with the callousness of life, but also the Buddhist idea that one needs to “do it for the fat lady.”
[Also, I hate realizing when I’ve been wondering about the motherfucking ducks. It’s the worst; THE DUCKS ARE FINE, THEY DON’T NEED YOUR DUMB HELP.]
